


Cookies and Cigarettes

by TarasCarol (Jazzabenton)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, I do what I want, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, me being contrary, this is what happens when fandom...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzabenton/pseuds/TarasCarol
Summary: "She'd come a long way in two and half years, but some parts hadn't burned away completely." One shot. Continues the scene on the porch, based on the assumption "It's not tomorrow yet," was an invitation to more. Carol x Tobin.
Relationships: Carol Peletier/Tobin (Walking Dead: Alexandria)
Kudos: 1





	Cookies and Cigarettes

"It's not tomorrow, yet."

She dipped her chin into her shoulder, looking up at him with a shy smile. Tentatively feeling her way through this...whatever it was. It had been such a long time since she felt this warmth flood through her: the heat of anticipation coupled with a fear of rejection and embarrassment, the squirming nerves coiled inside of her, the feeling of lightness as if she could float away from where she was sitting.

The opportunity dangled itself in front of her, just waiting for her to be brave enough to grasp it. Wanting for her to ignore the inner voice that told her she wasn't good enough, a voice so deeply ingrained in her after years of abuse. She'd come a long way in two and half years, but some parts hadn't burned away completely.

She watched as he flicked the cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot that was caked with mud from working on the fences. He reached down and she took his hand, rough and calloused from manual labor, but gentle in its touch. She followed him through the door, standing off to the side while he locked up and turned off the lights. She didn't know what to do with her hands, and wished for a moment that she still had the cigarette.

When she looked up, she could see him standing there, watching her, his desire clear in his eyes. It wasn't lust, he wasn't leering. It was admiration, appreciation. Like he was an art connoisseur and she was the Mona Lisa. She didn't feel worthy of the appraisal, but that didn't stop the hunger deep inside from growing more ravenous, awakening the slumbering sexual being that had been tamped down for so long. She wanted to take it. She wanted to cling to that sensation, wrap herself in it, let it saturate her and then satiate it, at least once in her life.

He moved to the couch and beckoned her with a gesture and a question in his eyes and she responded, her feet gliding along, obeying the thirst that drove her. She sat down next to him and this time he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, caressing, nipping gently. For such a brawny guy, he was surprisingly soft in his attentions to her.

She took over the kiss, deepening it, and felt his body tense in reaction to her more aggressive move before he relaxed and joined her in the moment. He was nothing like Ed. He wasn't pawing her, thrusting his tongue down her throat, or grabbing and squeezing her painfully. She almost forgot how pleasurable this could be, how enjoyable. Lord knows she was out of practice, a fact which he seemed not to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. He gave and he took in equal measure, another foreign concept to her.

Her body was crying for more, and she remembered this feeling from long ago. A need and desire awakened and unquenched. Unsatisfied. At the beginning of her marriage, Ed made half hearted attempts to get her off, but it only ever left her frustrated. Eventually, he didn't even try, only interested in his pleasure, just taking from her to suit his needs.

But this craving, it was familiar, and she fumbled with her hand, grasping his and trying to coax it further down her body, needing him to understand what she wanted, without having to tell him.

He got the message.

His large hand cupped her breast, just resting there at first, and she couldn't help the needy little gasp that escaped her. The sound only fueled him and with the fullness of its weight in his hand, he massaged and kneaded, tenderly coaxing along her desire. Her entire being shivered with delight, breaking out in gooseflesh, while simultaneously flushing with heat. Her nipples hardened and she pressed her body closer into him, seeking his touch. He answered her unspoken desire, his fingers brushing over the distended peak, coaxing forth even more pleasure.

It just felt so nice. She managed this thought somewhere in the back of her brain, a part that wasn't fully engaged in what was happening in front of her.

Even as Tobin gradually pressed her back into the cushions, reclining her on the couch, one part of her remained free to analyze each feeling, each sensation, marveling at how wonderful it felt. How he made her feel wanted and that was something she almost drank in, having been starved of that kind of attention.

Clothes loosened and fell away, and skin met skin, breath met breath. Tinged with the bitterness of tobacco, the taste flickered in the back of her mind, pulling forth something that might be considered a sense memory. The sweaty, smelly, drunken attentions from her past blurred with the soft, pleasing, _nice_ ministrations she was experiencing in the present.

It was _too close_ , _too personal_ , and she leaned up, nudging Tobin until he was sitting and she straddled him, maintaining a space between them that she filled with separateness. Control.

Gradually, the memories faded as their lips continued to meld together, meeting in playful kisses and nips that eventually deepened into dancing tongues sliding and moving together.

As she moved to sheathe him inside of her, he grasped her hips, but his gentle grip didn't leave marks. There would be no darkening bruises to serve as evidence of this encounter.

Her hips stuttered as she tried to find a rhythm, but he simply held her, letting her own her sexuality, her desire, and her search for her own fulfillment. His patience was even more arousing, once again, contrasting against what she'd known. She felt free, unhurried, and without worry hanging over head. She experimented while his hands glossed over her skin, and her hips steadied into a regular tempo. The cadence was slow, languorous, and everything she'd never had before.

Then, when his hand drifted between them, softly searching to help her pleasure along, she felt a burning, swirling madness coil rapidly inside her and spring loose, releasing a storm of sensations she'd only ever experienced at her own hand.

While she was still reeling from her climax, Tobin thrust a couple more times and then lifted her off him at the last second, spilling himself across his stomach and lap.

She looked up at him questioningly, and he gasped in exertion, his breathing heavy.

"You never said...we didn't talk...I didn't want to assume," he said, stumbling over his explanation. The fact that he considered she was still capable of getting pregnant, that he didn't assume she was beyond that, and that even at the moment of release he was being considerate of her, caused a hitch in her breath that she had no words to explain.

"Thank you," she whispered to him, touching his cheek, thanking him for so much more than he would ever know.


End file.
